Fred's Funeral
by btyrhrtout
Summary: The day the Weasley family buries one of their own.


In the dark silence just before dawn, Bill Weasley stood at the top of the hill above the house, his eyes trained on the distant horizon, which was lit with a faintly greenish glow. Mist lay in the hollows of the land and the grass was wet beneath his bare feet. The air was cool and, for the moment, calm. He had been awake for at least an hour already, after a night of tossing and turning in his childhood bedroom. Now he waited for the sun to rise on what was sure to be one of the worst days of his life. The week had already had many contenders for that title, with the hastily arranged memorial service at Hogwarts and the funerals every day. Lupin and Tonks had been laid to rest the previous day. However, today they'd be burying Fred.

He heard movement, but did not turn. A few moments later, Charlie appeared next to him, wearing striped pajamas and a red checked robe that was too short in the sleeves and hem and too tight in the waist and chest.

"Bad business yesterday." he said, attempting to pull the robe tighter around himself.

Bill assumed that he was referring to Andromeda Tonks, who had broken down at the graveside of her daughter and son-in-law. She'd been able to do nothing but scream "No! No!" over and over again, while clutching a wailing Teddy to her chest. Professors McGonagall and Sprout had struggled to hold her back. The memory was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

"An understatement."

"Isn't everything these days?"

"Seems like it."

In the trees, a bird began to chirp, followed by another, and another. A pale yellow light appeared at the edge of the world. The sky began to lighten, and streaks of pink and orange started to appear. All around them, shadows were retreating as the light grew stronger, the sun finally appearing on the horizon in a sliver of dazzling gold. The brothers stood in silence as the sky continued to grow lighter and the sun climbed higher. All around them, the darkness was melting away, and everything they could see had acquired a rosy glow in the early light.

After a few minutes, when the sun was fully visible, Bill turned to Charlie. He sighed deeply. "We'd better start waking everyone up."

"I was afraid you'd say that." Charlie said, still staring off into the distance.

"How was George last night?" Since they had returned to The Burrow the morning after the battle, Charlie had slept in the twins' old room with George, on a camp bed on the floor. He turned to Bill and shook his head slowly. "About as good as can be expected. Which is to say…."

"Like shite."

They walked back down the hill, not speaking. Past the orchard where Bill had been married and they had spent their youth playing pickup Quidditch, through the garden where their mother grew vegetables and they ate meals together during the summer, they walked until they reached the weed-choked stone steps that lead to the back door. The house was still. Even the chickens were quiet, though they were still shut up in the coop behind the shed.

"Good morning." Fleur said quietly as they came through the door. She was standing at the counter, wearing one of Mrs. Weasley's flowered aprons over her pink pajamas, and breaking eggs into a pan, enough for a House table. Sausages sizzled in an enormous griddle on the stove.

Bill walked over to where she stood and kissed her cheek. "How long have you been awake?"

"Awhile. I 'eard you get up and I wanted to make breakfast for e'eryone." She waved her wand and the heavy pan lifted into the air and settled itself onto the stove. The contents began to pop and hiss. She flicked her wand at them, and they began to scramble themselves.

"That was nice of you."

Fleur made a noise that seemed to indicate she was not being polite, she was doing what needed to be done. "Your mother 'az eenough to worry about today, I theenk." She pointed her wand at the sideboard on the far wall. Enough plates and silverware for nine zoomed out of the cabinets and began to arrange themselves on the table.

Bill eyed the clock on the wall. "We'd best get a move on. Charlie, stay here. I'm going to start waking everyone up. Get them to eat once they get down here. Don't take no for an answer. The last thing we need is someone fainting at the cemetery."

"Right." Charlie nodded, pulling glasses from the sideboard as Bill started for the stairs. He began to set them at each place when footsteps sounded on the stairs. Bill paused. A few moments later, Molly Weasley appeared in the kitchen. She wore a thick knit shawl over her nightgown and a stricken look on her pale face. Her red-rimmed eyes traveled over her sons and daughter-in-law, coming to rest on the stove, where breakfast preparations were in full swing.

"What good children you are." she said in a hoarse voice.

"Mum." Charlie said, going to her and gently taking her arm. "Come on, have a seat. We'll get some nice hot food into you."

"No, thanks, I couldn't." she said, but allowed him to lead her to the table. Once she was seated, Fleur brought over steaming tea in her favorite cup. "Thank you dear." she said as Fleur set down a bowl of sugar cubes and a cow-shaped creamer full of milk. "I couldn't eat, though, this is fine--"

"No, Mum. You have to have something. Bill's orders." Charlie said, looking up. Bill nodded.

"Perhaps just some toast. If that isn't too much trouble?"

"Not at all." Fleur replied, already using her wand to slice bread from the loaf on the counter. She looked at Bill and mouthed, "Go on."

"All right. I'll be back." he said, and ascended the stairs.

He climbed the flights until he could go no higher, stopping on a miniscule landing at the top of the house. A closed door marked "Ronald's Room" stood in front of him. He knocked firmly on the door, once, then twice. It was only a few moments before it swung open.

"Yeah." Ron's face was colorless, and there were heavy shadows around his eyes, but he looked awake.

"You'll need to come downstairs for breakfast now. I'm going to need your help."

"Is Charlie awake?"

"He's downstairs with Fleur already. And Mum."

Ron stared blankly at his brother for a moment. "I'll be down in a minute." Without waiting for Bill's response, he shut the door in his face.

Bill stood for a moment, then turned and walked back down the stairs to the next landing. He made his way down the narrow hallway to the only closed door, listening at the keyhole for any sounds of activity. There was a cough. He knocked.

"Yes?" came the muffled voice of Arthur Weasley.

"Dad? Are you awake?"

It took a moment for him to respond. "I'm awake."

"Come downstairs when you're ready. Fleur has breakfast almost ready."

Again, another pause. "I'll be down soon."

Bill headed back for the stairs, where he descended two flights to the second floor. The window at the far end of the short hallway was open, and bright sunshine flooded the hallway. He had to shield his eyes to see the two doors that stood across from each other, both closed. He went to the one on the left, and was just about to knock when it swung open.

"Oh. Bill." Percy stood just inside his bedroom, fully dressed in a close-cut charcoal suit and shiny black tie, hair combed back and shoes polished to a high gloss. He looked like a used luxury-broom salesman. Behind his glasses, though, his eyes looked red and tired, and there were raw-looking scrapes and cuts on the side of his face and across his forehead.

"Fleur has breakfast downstairs."

"Good, good. Have you…?" He indicated the room across the hall with a wave of his hand.

"No. I'm going to wake him up last, give him a little time. I-- I want all of us to be there when I do. All of his brothers."

Percy nodded. "Of course."

They descended the stairs together, but Bill stopped at the first floor while Percy continued down to the kitchen. One door in this hallway stood open, the one that opened into his old bedroom. He could see that Fleur had made the narrow bed, where she had slept, and even the little camp bed on the floor where he had spent the past five sleepless nights. The door at the end of the hall was closed, and this was where he came to a stop and knocked.

After half a minute, when he had received no answer, he put his ear close to the door and listened intently. No sounds emanated from the room. Frowning, he knocked again, quicker, and louder. Once more, there was no response. Finally, feeling a bit nervous, he pounded on the door and pushed it open.

The comfortable little room was filled with morning sunshine. A gentle breeze wafted in through the open window, rustling the gauzy curtains and carrying the scent of grass and wildflowers. Birds were twittering in the orchard. And sitting at the small vanity table on the opposite wall was Ginny, her back to the door, her thick red hair matted and tangled.

"Don't you knock?" she asked in a cracked voice, as though she was very thirsty. Like the rest of the family, she looked washed out, tired, and drawn, with dark circles beneath her bloodshot eyes.

"I did. Several times." he said.

"Oh." She made no move to turn around, just stared into the mirror.

He stepped into the room. "Come on downstairs, Ginny. You need to have breakfast."

After a long pause, she answered. "I'm not hungry."

"It's going to be a long day. You need to eat something."

She continued to ignore him. He came closer and closer, finally stopping when he realized that she was not staring into the silvered glass, but rather at the objects tucked into the frame. Her eyes were trained on a picture of Fred and Angelina Johnson at the Yule Ball. They were slow dancing theatrically, and laughing. Bill watched as the miniscule Fred, in his ancient dress robes, twirled Angelina, in her sleek and stylish gold dress, around, and then dipped her ridiculously low. He let go, on purpose, and she fell the rest of the way to the floor, looking surprised. He reached down and grasped her hands, pulling her to her feet, both of them disintegrating into laughter. Bill felt a lump rising in his throat, which he swallowed hard.

"Ginny."

She finally turned to him, but did not look him in the eye. He held his arms open, but she made no move to stand up, just sat sideways in the chair and looked at the wall behind his head. Bill almost wished for her to cry. Almost all she had done over the past week was sleep. She was such a strong person, one of the strongest he had ever known, and her flat affect frightened him.

"I-- I'm not sure that I can do it." she said after what seemed like an hour, the words coming very slowly. "I can't… I mean, I don't think… I don't think I can watch them… put his body in the ground."

"You can. You can, because I'll be there with you. And I'll help you."

After a long moment, she met his eyes. "Will you really help me?"

"Yes. So will Fleur, and Charlie, and Ron and Hermione and Harry and Percy and George. We'll all help each other today. We'll help each other be strong."

She nodded, but said nothing.

"Well, get yourself together and come downstairs."

Again, nothing. After a moment, he left, shutting the door behind him. On the stairs, he paused and looked up. Sounds were coming from the ground floor, but above him was only silence. He debated whether or not to call for his wife to escort Ginny downstairs, but decided against it and headed back down to the kitchen.

Fleur was dishing up breakfast when he returned. Mrs. Weasley sat with her hands wrapped around her teacup as though the transfer of heat was giving her strength. Mr. Weasley sat next to her, and Bill was happy to see that he was eating, however mechanically. Ron and Percy sat next to each other on the other side of the table; the former slathering his toast with butter while the latter stirred his tea painstakingly.

"Bill, what would you like?" Fleur asked as he sat down across from Charlie.

"I'll take a bit of everything, please." he said, though he felt no desire for food. She picked up his place and bustled over to the stove, bringing it back to him laden with eggs, sausages, toast and kippers. "Thank you."

"Oh, Arthur, would you like more?" she asked, as he laid down his fork onto his empty plate. He looked up at her, blinking as though he'd forgotten that there were other people in the room with him.

"All right, Fleur, if you don't mind."

She took his plate and set it back down in front of him a minute later, piled with food once again, then returned to the sink. Potatoes were peeling themselves into the basin as everyone else ate in silence. For a long while, the only sounds were cutlery scraping on plates and noises from outside the open stable door, where a beautiful late spring morning lurked, unwelcome.

As everyone was finishing up, Charlie and Bill exchanged looks. Charlie pointed surreptitiously to the ceiling. Bill nodded minutely. Before they could get up from the table, though, Percy spoke.

"Look, there's Harry and Hermione."

Sure enough, they were making their way up the back walk, squinting in the sunlight. Harry wore a somber black suit, and Hermione, a plain black dress. They looked strangely apprehensive as they approached the door.

"Come on in." Ron said, waving his friends in. Harry led the way, stopping short of the table. Behind him, Hermione was fidgeting with her hands and avoiding everyone's eyes. One of her eyes was swollen and bruised, though she wore makeup to disguise it.

"Oh, 'arry, 'ermione, would you like something to eat?" Fleur asked, wiping her hands on the dishtowel she had tucked into her apronstrings.

"No, thanks, I already ate." Harry said.

"So did I, but thanks. Do you need help?" Hermione asked, looking hopeful that Fleur might have a chore for her to do.

"But of course. If you would 'elp me get some things ready for deenner, I am making some potato soup..." Fleur replied, and Hermione trotted off to help her, tying on anther one of Mrs. Weasley's aprons over her dress.

Bill and Charlie got up from the table. "I want you lot to come with us." Charlie said, pointing at Percy and Ron.

"What? Where?" Ron asked.

"We're going to go wake George up."

"All of us?"

"All of us." Bill answered. "You too, Harry."

"Me?!" Harry said in surprise.

He nodded. "Yes. You're practically the seventh Weasley brother."

Harry looked stunned, but fell into step with Percy and Ron as they got up from the table and headed for the stairs behind Charlie and Bill. At that moment, Ginny came down the steps, looking minutely better with a washed face and hair in a knot at the back of her head.

"Where are you going?" she asked, not sounding particularly curious.

"To wake George. Why don't you come along?" Charlie answered.

She looked at Harry, who gave her a smile that she did not return, and then at her brothers. Then she nodded and made an about-face, leading the way back up the stairs to the second floor, the others stomping along after her until they reached the closed door that had hidden the twins' inventions from the rest of the house for many years. Bill hesitated for a moment, then lifted his hand and rapped firmly on the door.

They waited in silence, the seconds stretching to a minute with no response. Bill knocked again, and again they waited. Finally, he opened the door.

The room was stuffy and dim, the curtains drawn. George's feet stuck off the end of the bed in the left corner of the room, the rest of him wrapped in a quilt. Charlie's camp bed lay untidily on the floor. The bed on the right side of the room was still made, having remained unslept in.

Charlie, Percy, Ron, Harry and Ginny filed into the room behind Bill, who went to the window, pulled back the curtains, and opened it. He then sat down on the edge of the bed and pushed George's leg gently. George only shifted in the bed.

"George." Bill called quietly, pushing his leg again. "George."

George stirred again, finally speaking from under the quilt. "What?"

"It's time to get up."

George muttered something unintelligible from beneath his quilt and then sat up, unwrapping the bedclothes from around his head and chest. His face was pasty, a large red blotch on his cheek where it had made contact with his pillow. He blinked at the sight of his siblings and Harry, and rubbed his eyes, which had such heavy shadows beneath them that he seemed to be wearing eye make-up.

"What the bloody hell is this?" he asked when they failed to disappear, turning to Bill for explanation.

"We all want to be here for you today."

"Well, great, here you are, all clustered at the end of my bed." He held out his hands and turned them over, displaying the wrists. "Look, see, no suicide attempts. Now kindly get lost." he said, pulling the quilt back over his head.

"George--"

"I mean it. The lot of you." His voice was slightly muffled.

Bill looked at him for a moment, and then turned back to the others. "Go ahead back downstairs. I'll be down soon."

Charlie raised an eyebrow, but Bill shook his head. He nodded and shepherded the others out of the room, then shut the door behind him. For a minute, the only sound was George's stifled respirations from beneath the quilt.

"I know you're still here, Bill."

"I know."

"I seem to recall ordering the lot of you out of our room."

Bill closed his eyes briefly at the word "our". "I know."

There was a pause. "Well, would you like me to escort you to the door?"

"That won't be necessary. I'll wait here until you're ready to go down to breakfast."

"I'm not really hungry, thanks."

"That excuse hasn't worked on me yet today. It's not about to start."

"So--"

"So I'm prepared to grab you by the chin and shovel eggs and kippers, lovingly made by my wife, down your throat."

George said nothing for a moment, then moved the quilt away from his face, so that he looked like an old woman wearing a heavy, hooded traveling cloak. "You know, I imagine that the Imperius Curse would make it easier. Less of a mess, and then you'd be assured that I would chew and swallow."

Bill got up, pulling his brother's quilt along with him. "So does this mean you're getting up now? To spare me a lengthy stint in Azkaban for the use of an Unforgivable Curse?"

"I suppose."

Bill headed for the door, shaking his head. "Don't be long, I want to make sure everyone has enough time." He could hear George getting out of bed behind him.

"Bill?"

He stopped with his hand on the door handle. "Yeah?"

"Do you know when it's the worst?"

Bill turned to face George, who stood next to the bed he had just vacated. "When?" he asked, but he knew the answer.

"The morning, right when I wake up. When I'm asleep, I forget. And in the morning, I have to remember again." He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his pajamas. "It's like having him die all over again."

Bill crossed the room again in three large steps, pulling George into a fierce hug as he started to cry in earnest. Tears brimmed in Bill's eyes but did not fall. They stood like that for a few minutes, hugging each other tightly, George crying quietly into his brother's chest. Finally, he pulled away, swiping furiously at his eyes.

"God, I'm sorry. That was--"

"You don't ever need to apologize for that." Bill said firmly.

"I-- thank you. I don't-- I just-- I miss him."

"So do I."

Two hours later, George was dressed in a too-large suit of Bill's and an overly stiff dress shirt, sitting uncomfortably at the trestle table and drinking tea. A half-empty plate of food lay next to him. Charlie was sitting on a chair a few meters from the table, a large dishcloth draped over his shoulders while Fleur cut his hair. The clock chimed in the kitchen, quiet except for the dull roar of running water several floors above them.

"Charlie, seet steell." Fleur said softly, tracing the tip of her wand around his ear. "There." she said, brushing red hair off the back of his neck with her hand. "George, would you like me to cut your 'air too?"

"What? Oh, no, thanks." he said, running his hand through his shaggy hair as Charlie got up from the chair. "I think I'm going to let it grow out a bit."

"Well, zat ees fine. I just thought… well, no matter." She removed the apron and started for the stairs, where she paused and turned. "Do you need me for anyzing?"

"No, thanks, Fleur."

"Well, call for me eef you need me. I am going to go take a bath." With that, she climbed the stairs, leaving George and Charlie alone in the kitchen.

"George." Charlie pointed out the kitchen window. He rose from the table and looked outside, where his brother was pointing.

Lee Jordan and Oliver Wood were coming down the hill towards The Burrow, dressed in nearly identical dark suits. Lee was carrying a box under his arm. They stopped at the gate, and made their way through the gardens toward the house. Charlie went to the door.

"Lee. Oliver." he said, swinging open the bottom half of the stable door to admit them into the house.

"Charlie." Oliver said, shaking his hand firmly. Lee followed suit.

"What've you got there?" George said, indicating the box beneath Lee's arm.

"Just some things." he said, looking uncomfortable as he held it out to George. "Some things I had laying around that I thought you and your family might want to have now."

"Thanks." George hated himself for being so formal and ill at ease around his friends, but he felt lost. He had never, ever imagined himself in a situation like this. "How… how about we go into the living room?"

"I've got to get dressed. I'll be down shortly." Charlie said, heading for the stairs. George nodded, and then led Lee and Oliver through the kitchen door and into the living room.

Fred's coffin, made of shiny, dark wood, took up the far corner of the room. The lid was open, and Fred lay amongst the quilted white satin, wearing a black dragon hide jacket. His hands were folded over his abdomen. A long, thin scratch ran along the curve of his cheek on one side of his face, and there was some bruising and scraping along his knuckles, but other than that, there was no sign of anything amiss. He looked for all the world as though he was asleep. Sitting on a chair at the head of the casket was Mrs. Weasley, in long black dress robes and the gold necklace that the twins had given her, crying silently into a lace handkerchief.

"Oh!" she said as the men filed into the room, wiping at her eyes and nose and getting to her feet. "I'm sorry, boys, I must have given you a turn."

"Mum--" George said, but Oliver stepped forward.

"Please, Mrs. Weasley, don't get up. Lee and I just wanted to offer our most sincere condolences to you and your family. Fred--- Fred was a good friend." He looked as though the words were painful to say.

"Thank you, Oliver. And you, Lee." Mrs. Weasley said softly, looking at both boys with a sad, kind smile on her face. She turned to her son. "What've you got there, Georgie?"

"Something that Lee brought for us."

"Oh?"

George looked at Lee for help, but all he could do was nod. His eyes seemed to be abnormally shiny. If not for the fact that he had never been more depressed in his life, George would have marvelled at the bizarreness of each passing minute.

"Come sit with me, Mum." George said, taking a seat on the sofa and indicating that his mother should join him. She moved from her seat at Fred's casket to the sofa next to him, taking the hand that lay on top of the box and squeezing it quickly. Then he opened the lid.

The first thing that he saw was a large rectangular photograph. He released the breath he wasn't even aware he had been holding, and reached into the box to collect the photo. It showed a Gryffindor Quidditch team, in full scarlet and gold glory, standing in a line.

Charlie Weasley stood in the center, holding his broom firmly one hand and a furiously flapping Snitch in the other. A large gold "S" was embroidered on the chest of his robes. Next to him stood Oliver Wood, who was looking intensely into the camera, trying to look intimidating when he wasn't craning around to make sure everyone else was facing front. A young Angelina Johnson, with round, rosy cheeks and her hair in two fat braids on each side of her head, stood next to him. She was holding a Quaffle and tossing it absently from one hand to another. On Charlie's other side was a tall, broad boy with very blonde hair and nearly invisible eyebrows, who dually squinted and shaded his eyes as he looked forward. Beside him was a small, slender girl with a lot of freckles and tightly curled dark hair. She had goggles on her head and was holding her broom like a staff. And, on each end, were two identical red-haired boys with identical roguish grins, short bats slung over their shoulders. They were talking, and when they would stop, everyone else would laugh.

"Look how young you all look." Molly said, smiling mistily as she traced the faces with her finger. She watched as everyone in the photo stopped what they were doing and stood straight up, facing forward. A flash of light, and then they went back to talking and fidgeting and laughing.

"That was our first year on the team. Oliver's first year as captain." George said, looking up for confirmation. Oliver nodded. "And Charlie's last year."

"Aye, he was an excellent Seeker. Which seems to run in the family." Oliver said, looking thrilled to be on an emotionally neutral subject such as Quidditch.

Ginny and Hermione had entered the sitting room. Ginny was now dressed in a simple black dress, with her hair brushed and pulled back into a soft chignon at the back of her head. Hermione murmured quiet greetings to Oliver and Lee, which they returned.

"What's that?" Ginny asked slowly.

"Come look." George said. "Lee brought it for us."

Ginny crossed the room and sat on George's other side. She stared down at the picture for a long moment, brow furrowed. Then, the closest thing to a smile that she could manage appeared on her face. "How old is this?"

"Our second year." George replied. "Where did you get this?" He looked up at Lee, who had his hands stuffed in his pockets.

Lee shrugged. "I've had it laying around. Thought you might like it. There's all kinds of things in there."

George reached into the box again. "Yule Ball pictures. Terrific." He lifted up a few smaller photographs and displayed them like playing cards. "These things should be burned." he said, tapping a picture of himself and Fred in their old frilly dress robes with the wide collars. They were pointing excitedly at the stage, where The Weird Sisters were playing. Fred shot an enthusiastic thumbs-up at the camera.

"The robes or the pictures?"

"Both."

"Those are classics; they never go out of style." Molly said with a smile, looking down at the picture. "Well, perhaps they do."

"You and Fred look all right." Ginny said, reaching for the photo. Then she looked at the next one, which showed Ron standing with Padma Patil. She was swaying rhythmically, looking away from him, a pained expression on her face. He was glowering in the other direction, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "As for Ron, well…."

"As for Ron what?" Ron and Charlie came into the room then, with Harry behind them.

"Your dress robes. From the Yule Ball."

"What?! Lemme see that!" he said, striding over and perching on the arm of the sofa. He leaned over Ginny and grabbed for the pictures. She held them away from him.

"Here, Charlie, want to see them?" she asked, leaning over to hand it to Charlie, who now stood on Molly's other side. He took them.

"Wow. Pretty stylish, Ron. Who's that you're with?" he said, chuckling as he handed them back to Molly.

"Padma Patil."

"She looks thrilled."

Ron scowled at his brother, and then looked over to where Harry and Hermione stood with Lee and Oliver. "Well, if someone hadn't decided to eschew character and good looks for fame and fortune, she probably would have had a much better time."

"How do you mean?" Charlie asked.

"Hermione went with _Viktor Krum_. If she would have gone with me, Padma could have gone with someone she actually liked."

Hermione blushed pink, but Ron smiled at her. She returned the smile shyly.

"Who did you go with, George?" Molly asked, looking up from the photo of the twins.

"I went stag. That means I got to dance with loads of girls who decided they didn't like their dates. Best idea I've ever had."

With each item that came out of the box, more reminiscing and laughter ensued. Everyone had trickled in, and was passing around pictures and papers and swapping stories. Arthur was laughing heartily over a "Potterwatch" outline, which detailed the topics to be discussed on one of the airings. Fred had crossed out the sections headed "Rodent" and had penciled in "Rapier" in enormous letters. "You know, like rapier wit. Sounds much better than epée. Or Rodent, for that matter." he had scrawled across the bottom, complete with an angry face and a swearword. Fleur, looking like a model in her simple wrap dress, complimented his use of the word "epée".

Molly pulled out a yellowed clipping from The Daily Prophet. Lee looked distinctly embarrassed as she read it, eyes narrowing as she read further down the page. She looked up, first at Lee, and then at George.

"Does anyone care to explain the significance of _this_?" she asked, handing it to George.

It was a clipping from a year previous. At the top was a picture of some shop windows in Diagon Alley, papered with posters of Death Eaters. However, someone-- or someones-- had been at the posters with Indelible Ink, drawing, among other things, a purple top hat and monocle on Yaxley, a large red smile and cross-eyes on Bellatrix Lestrange, and a curly handlebar mustache and pink, winged opera glasses on Dolohov. But perhaps the most attention-grabbing feature of the picture was a rather impressive rendering of Voldemort, complete with long blonde curls, frilly green bonnet, lace pinafore, and bowl of steaming porridge. "Voldielocks" was written in feminine script above the picture.

The text described the vandalism, and ended with the lines "_Three cloaked figures were witnessed running up Diagon Alley in the very early morning on the day in question. Several people gave chase, but the suspects disappeared in the vicinity of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Anyone with information on the vandals is asked to contact the Ministry immediately."_ George felt his ear burning.

"The _vicinity_ of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, was it? Are you sure it wasn't _into_ Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?"

"Well, Mum--"

"_Voldie_locks?" she said, her voice quiet yet dangerous. "What is Voldielocks? Lee?"

Lee shifted uncomfortably. "Well, Mrs. Weasley, Goldielocks is a Muggle story about… about a little girl who breaks into a bear's house and eats their porridge and sleeps on their beds and… a couple of Muggleborns in our year told us about it awhile ago… and... We… we thought it was…." he trailed off.

"I see. " Unexpectedly, Molly smiled. "Very funny. Foolish, but funny." she said, handing the clipping over to where Arthur and Bill stood, so they could see for themselves the picture of "Voldielocks".

Without warning, the a few pops sounded from somewhere outside, and Hagrid called from the back door. Bill, who had been laughing, looked at his watch and his face fell. The smile on George's face faded as he realized that, away from the memories and mirth, it was still the day he had been dreading and his twin's casket was still sitting mere meters from him.

"I'm sorry, everyone." Bill said, moving to the center of the room. "But we need to-- need to get going." He waved his finger at Charlie, and pointed to the casket, then moved to the sofa and helped his mother to her feet. She gripped his arm tightly. "It's time, Mum." he whispered. All around them, everyone was shifting around.

"Arthur?" she said, turning to look for him. He came to her side, and he took hold of her free arm. Fleur appeared at Bill's other side, her face pale, as she took his hand. Hers was very cold. Bill gently freed his mother's hand from his arm, and watched as they shuffled forward to Fred's casket.

The room was silent for a moment. "Goodbye, my darling." Mrs. Weasley said shakily, leaning down to kiss Fred's forehead. "I miss you so much." She straightened up, tears coursing down her face. Arthur held tightly to his wife, and reached down to touch his son's hands. He said nothing, just stared down at the casket. After what seemed like an eternity, they moved away from the coffin. Mrs. Weasley looked at Bill, tear tracks shiny on her cheeks. He nodded, and they exited the room.

Charlie and Percy were next. Charlie looked down at Fred's body, finally reaching forward and straightening the collar of his jacket, biting his lip in concentration. Percy made no move to touch his brother, just stared at his peaceful face and pressed his own hands together so hard that his knuckles were white. It was only a minute or so before he turned away, followed soon after by Charlie. They walked away from the coffin, but stayed back by the door instead of exiting the room as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had.

Ron approached the casket slowly, Hermione's hand entwined in his. She was already crying, tears leaking from beneath her closed eyelids, but he just looked sick as he looked down at Fred. "I miss you, mate." he said, his voice cracking. Hermione squeezed his hand, and he gripped hers tightly as he stared down at his brother's body. "Don't-- don't go too far." he said, and then turned away, as though he didn't want to cry in front of the coffin.

Hermione kissed the fingers of her free hand and pressed them quickly to Fred's cheek, then walked stiffly away with Ron. They waited with Charlie and Percy as Ginny and Harry moved to the casket.

"You stupid prat." she whispered, barely audibly, looking down into her brother's face. Harry stood at her shoulder, and watched quietly as she leaned forward, kissing one of Fred's cheeks and then the other. Her fingers gently traced the scratch on his face, and she pressed her other hand to her mouth. She stood like that, not crying or moving, for a long time. Finally, Harry took her elbow and guided her away.

George hung back for a moment before taking a step towards the casket. Without warning, Fleur reached forward and grabbed his hand. She pulled Bill along with her, until all three of them stood together, looking down at Fred's serene form.

"Kind of a horror show, wouldn't you say?" George asked quietly, looking down at Fred's face. "I mean, that's what I'll look like when I die. Only better-looking, of course."

Fleur began to weep, tears pouring freely down her beautiful face as she clutched the hands of both her husband and her brother-in-law. Bill swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat did not diminish. He looked from George to Fred, and he wanted to yell and curse and break things. He wanted it to be him, lying there, instead of one of his siblings. But not even magic could make that happen.

George pulled a bag of brightly colored candies from the pocket of his suit, tucking them into his twin's hand. "The variety pack. Wicked idea." He smiled, but it faded quickly. With an almost inaudible sigh, he lightly punched Fred's shoulder. "All right there, Gred. I'll see you around." he said simply, turning and walking away from the casket. Behind him and at his side, Bill could hear Hermione and Fleur crying.

"Oh Fred," Fleur whispered, as tears dripped from the end of her superb nose and splashed onto his dragon hide jacket. "Fred, you are a 'ero. You are always in our 'earts." She kissed both of his cheeks and stood back as Bill bent over and touched his forehead to Fred's. It felt waxy and unnatural, but he refused to be repulsed by all that remained of his own brother.

"I miss you, kid." he said, barely above a whisper. Then he straightened up and led his wife away so that Oliver and Lee could say their good-byes.

Once they reached the other side of the room, Fleur had calmed down enough to hug her sister-in-law close, speaking to her in quiet, gentle French. Together, she and Hermione led Ginny, who looked ill, out of the room. Bill watched as Oliver and Lee stood briefly over the casket, and then walked away. Once they had, he moved forward with Charlie and, together, they closed Fred's coffin for the final time.

Ron, Percy, George, Harry, Oliver and Lee approached the now-closed casket, the Weasley brothers on one side and the others on the opposite. Together, they took hold of the brass rails on the sides of the coffin and lifted it.

They moved as one out of the Burrow and into sunny backyard. A small group of people stood outside in the afternoon sunshine, stopping all conversation and movement once the casket and the pallbearers appeared. Professor McGonagall stood with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Hermione, Ginny and Fleur were standing together a few steps away. Further away, towards the gate, Hagrid and Kingsley Shacklebolt were standing with the small, tufty-haired minister that had officiated at Dumbledore's funeral, as well as Bill and Fleur's wedding. He broke from the group and made his way to Bill and Charlie.

"Misters Weasley," he said, his voice sounding very loud in the silent garden. He shook Bill's hand, then Charlie's. "I am so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Minister." Bill and Charlie replied together.

"I was just telling your parents, there is another funeral taking place at the cemetery, at the Muggle church. A military ceremony. The charms are in place so that they won't see us, naturally, but I will be glad to go ahead and set down some more so that their music does not disturb your service."

As he mentioned this, from far away came the low, mournful sound of bagpipes, followed by the deep, slow cadence of drums. Charlie and Bill exchanged looks, and then looked out over the warm, sunny garden and the many people that stood within its borders. Charlie nodded, summing up another of their unspoken conversations.

"That won't be necessary, Minister." Bill said. "Our brother died a hero, much as I'm sure this other person did. I think their music might bring us all some comfort."

"As you wish."

And so they set out, through the garden and down the road, towards the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. The minister led the way, followed by the casket carried by the six pallbearers. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley trailed behind, holding on to each other for support. Bill came next, holding hands with Fleur, with his other arm around Ginny's shoulders. Charlie was in step with him, with Hermione clinging to his arm. Behind them, Professor McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt walked together. Hagrid brought up the rear, crying noisily into a handkerchief the size of a bath towel. As they came closer to the cemetery, the music grew louder.

The walk was not far, but Bill felt that each step was a mile long. He could see Percy up ahead, struggling under the weight of the casket, and found himself silently willing his brother to keep it together. On his left, Fleur was sniffling every now and then, but was mostly composed. Ginny was walking stiffly on his other side, staring straight ahead. His stomach took a dive into his shoes as they came around a bend in the road, and he could see the cemetery ahead.

Finally, the minister brought them through the wrought iron gates of the small cemetery. From the old stone church came the sounds of a solemn dirge, played by an unseen band. With each drumbeat, they took another step. They walked slowly past the headstones of deceased Muggles, over a small rise at the far edge of the cemetery, to where the generations of Wizarding families from the village buried their fallen.

At least a hundred white chairs were set up on the bright green grass on the other side of the hill, just beyond the gravestones, and almost all of them were filled. There were many, many familiar faces amongst those gathered to pay their respects to Fred Weasley. Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson sat in one of the rows near the front, on the aisle. Alicia was distributing tissues to the other girls, and all three were crying openly. In front of them was a pack of D.A. members, all looking battle scarred and solemn. Aberforth Dumbledore was among them, sitting between Neville and Luna. There were Hogwarts teachers and students and graduates, shopkeepers from Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, members of the Ministry that were not currently in Azkaban. Everyone was facing the casket and the line of mourners that followed it.

The music stopped as they approached the aisle. The only sounds were those of birds in the trees and soft crying coming from places in the crowd.

The minister held up his hand and turned to the family. "Would you all please come forward with me?" he said quietly. "The pallbearers may bring up the casket when everyone is seated."

Fleur gripped Bill's hand even tighter, crushing his fingers in her small palm. He squeezed back.

"Here." Charlie whispered behind him, easing his free arm around Ginny's and pulling her gently away from Bill and into his own protective grip. She looked vaguely like she was going to vomit as he hugged her close, but reached up to pat his arm. Hermione was still on his other side, clutching his arm as though she was in pain. "You get Mum."

Mrs. Weasley looked up in surprise as Bill appeared on her right side, wrapping his arm around hers and taking hold of her hand. "Thank you, dear." she whispered weakly. He winked quickly at her, and then started walking forward.

They walked together, Arthur, Molly, Bill and Fleur, up the wide aisle between the chairs packed with people. Behind them came Charlie, holding Ginny on his right and Hermione on his left. Hermione had started to cry in earnest again, wiping at the deluge with a delicate lace handkerchief. Ginny just looked down at the ground as they passed by the rows of mourners.

The minister stopped at the empty chairs in the front rows, indicating that the family should be seated. Charlie went in first, sitting on the end, with the girls on his right. Fleur and Bill followed, with Mrs. Weasley next to them. Mr. Weasley sat on the end.

Professor McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt came down the aisle, but instead of going to their seats on the other side of the aisle, they approached Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"Molly." Professor McGonagall said evenly, though there were tears in her blue eyes. "We are so sorry for your loss." She reached into her robes and pulled out a bundle of gold and scarlet cloth, which she handed to Mrs. Weasley. "Here. These are Fred's Quidditch robes. We… we have decided to retire his number."

Molly stared down at the smooth cloth, which had "Weasley" and the numbers "00" embroidered on the back. "Thank you." she whispered, barely audibly, pulling it close to her chest.

Professor McGonagall smiled sadly at her, and then turned to Kingsley. He stepped forward, a gentle, melancholy sort of smile on his face. "Molly," he said, taking one of her hands and clasping it in his. "And Arthur." he said, turning and putting his other hand on Mr. Weasley's shoulder. "I am so sorry that we have to be here today like this. Fred was an extraordinary man, with a remarkable strength of spirit. It was an honor and privilege to fight alongside him on the side of what is good. And I wish to present you with this, in his honor." He released Mr. Weasley's shoulder long enough to remove a small, highly polished wooden box from his robes and hand it to him.

"It's… it's the Order of Merlin." Mr. Weasley said hoarsely. "Thank-- thank you, Kingsley."

Kingsley leaned over and spoke very quietly to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, then, along with Professor McGonagall, crossed the aisle and took his seat. The minister stood at the head of the aisle, on a low platform surrounded by flowers, looking down the aisle.

At once, everyone got to their feet as drums sounded once more from the tiny church just over the hill, followed by bagpipes. Together, they played a somber march as those gathered turned to face the casket.

"Music again." Ron murmured behind his arm. "It's almost like--"

"Don't say magic." George replied from the front of the line. "Let's go, gentlemen. Showtime."

Slowly, they started up the aisle. The dark wood of the casket shone in the warm sunlight. George and Lee were in front, followed by Percy and Oliver, and Harry and Ron. They carried it high on their shoulders, which was difficult to do considering the height differences. But George was glad to be concentrating on keeping it straight.

He passed the row in which Katie, Alicia and Angelina sat, just a few meters away. Angelina gave a strangled little cry and began to sob, and he could see Katie pulling her into a hug as he continued past. His stomach dropped somewhere near his knees, but still he trudged on. On his left, now, were many of his old classmates at Hogwarts that he had known from the D.A. Quickly, he scanned their battered and bruised faces, and was surprised to see that many were wet with tears. His throat suddenly felt very tight. And now here was the rest of his family, his mother cradling Fred's Quidditch robes in her arms like a baby, his father crying. His knees felt loose, like they would buckle, but he screamed at himself inside his head to keep going.

The six men bearing the body of Fred Weasley stopped at the head of the aisle, in front of the minister. They unshouldered the coffin and placed it on the platform as the final drumbeat echoed away into silence. The minister nodded, and they went to sit on the right side of the aisle, in the empty seats in the row with Professor McGonagall and Kingsley. The rest of the mourners took their seats as well.

The minister looked out at the people in front of him. "I wish," he began, "That this was the first funeral I had to attend this week. However, we all know that it was not. This week, we have had to bury many of our fallen."

He looked down at the casket of front of him. "Today, we say goodbye to a young hero. I did not know Fred Weasley personally, but I have been told many things about him; that he was a prankster, a jokester, some would say, a troublemaker. He was an inventive businessman, a skilled Quidditch player, a sub-par Yule Ball date." He paused here, as chuckles ran through the crowd. George twisted in his chair and saw Angelina Johnson smile through her tears.

"He was also a devoted brother of six, a loyal friend and son, and a dedicated member of The Order of the Phoenix. In his final moments, he fought valiantly on a night that we will all remember for the rest of our lives, helping bring down the Death Eaters that had infiltrated the walls of Hogwarts. Because of his sacrifice, and that of the others who died on that night, we are able to be here today, free to remember him fondly and to bury him with dignity."

Here, he turned to George and motioned for him to approach the platform. George swallowed hard and got to his feet. It seemed to take hours to cross the grass and step up onto the little platform. Once he was there, he cleared his throat and looked out onto those in attendance.

Before he could speak, though, a shrill voice whispered loudly, "I thought he was dead?… Oh? Twins?…. Yes, you're right, how silly of me. Which one is that again?…" Most of the people who sat in front of him looked horrified, but it was what George needed.

"My Aunt Muriel isn't the only one who had trouble telling Fred and I apart. For the record, I'm George, and it'll be me you see walking around from now on.

"I've put a lot of thought into what I was going to say, and nothing feels right. There isn't much that I can say about him that would do him justice.

"But I do want to tell you that Fred… Fred and I knew what could happen. We knew what the other side was capable of, and we knew what was right. Our parents raised us-- all of us-- that way. And we made our choice. Even though we were always the joke guys, the guys who always made people laugh…. Well, what I'm saying is, Fred was not afraid to fight. Fred was not afraid to die. He was afraid to not live, if that makes any sense. We knew that maybe we'd never live in a world without war, but we wanted to live a life without fear. He was never afraid to make jokes, never afraid to say what he thought, and never afraid to do right. He wouldn't have wanted anyone to be afraid."

George's eyes burned and his throat felt swollen. He looked down at Ron, who was trying to cry inconspicuously, and Harry, who nodded at him, and Percy, who looked constipated. He turned his head and looked at his parents. Both were crying. Bill stared up at him, an unreadable expression on his face, while beside him, Fleur wept beautifully into her hands. Charlie sat on the end, with one arm around Ginny, who was watching him closely. Hermione sat next to her, and smiled sadly at him through her tears. He gulped air.

"Even though we talked about what would happen if we lost a brother or sister or Mum or Dad to the war, I never imagined that I'd be standing here, now. I-- I miss Fred, and-- and I… I'm sorry…." The faces in front of him blurred, and he looked quickly at the floor of the platform, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I'm sorry. What I mean to say is, he would not want us to mourn his death, but to cel--celebrate his memory and pr--" A sob escaped, and he pressed his hand to his face, staring down at the platform and trying to breathe through his nose, to get a hold of himself. His brain roared loudly, but his body fought, and he could not stop the tears.

He was vaguely aware of movement, and of someone coming up to the platform with him, putting an arm around his shoulders. And then he heard Bill, quietly in his ear, "You did good, kid. Come sit now, you've done more than anyone could ask for." With Bill guiding him, he shuffled forward, off the platform and into the grass, where his mother grabbed him and pulled him close to her and his father gripped his shoulder. Ron and Percy had abandoned their seats and joined the family. All around, onlookers cried into tissues and wiped tears from their eyes.

The minister approached the casket, and placed his hand on the lid, mouth moving in a silent blessing. Then he looked up at the mourners once more.

"Not many could speak more heartfelt words than one who has known Fred since the womb. I know that this is a sad time, but I want to tell you, friends and family of Fred Weasley, that his death was not in vain. We can move forward and heal and celebrate his life, as his brother states he wanted. Take comfort in the fact that those beyond the veil have not gone far. They are eternal, they are all around us, and they are always with us."

In the wooded area at the bottom of the hill, a bird began to sing. Over the rise, just out of sight, a strong voice began to sing from inside the Muggle church.

'_Sé mo laoch, mo Ghile Mear, _  
_'Sé mo Chaesar, Ghile Mear,  
Suan ná séan ní bhfuaireas féin  
Ó chuaigh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear._

"It's Mo Ghile Mear." Seamus Finnegan hissed to Dean Thomas.

"It's what?" Dean whispered back.

"It means 'Our Hero.'"

In the row in front of them, Charlie Weasley turned around. "It means what?"

" 'Our hero'. In Gaelic."

"What does the rest of it mean?"

Seamus continued to translate in a whispered voice as the song continued, strong and clear over the hills and towards the little village beyond.

The minister stood over the casket and waved his wand. It lifted a few inches into the air and floated over to an open grave, watched over by a blank marble headstone. There it hovered, while the minister motioned for the family to approach. They did, clustered together at the foot of the grave as the singing ended and almost immediately, unseen bagpipes began to play "Amazing Grace." The congregation rose to their feet and joined the Weasleys, grouping behind them and making a wide circle around the gravesite.

The minister uttered another blessing, and gently lowered his wand. The casket slowly began to descend, sinking little by little into the grave. Mrs. Weasley gasped and began to sob once more, shaking so violently as she wept that she could barely stand. Bill held onto her tightly, trying to support her enough to keep her from falling over. On her other side, Mr. Weasley had an arm wrapped around hers, his other fist pressed to his mouth, staring down at the ground before him. Percy was wiping tears from his eyes. Ron had one arm around Hermione, but didn't seem to notice. He just watched the casket; biting his lip so hard that it was a wonder he hadn't yet drawn blood. Charlie still held onto Ginny with one hand, using the other to dab at his face with a handkerchief. She had a hand clapped over her mouth as if she thought she would vomit.

Everyone watched as it lowered itself into the ground. Above them, the sky was brilliantly, cloudlessly blue, and the air was sweet, warm and calm. The bagpipes played on, slow and sad and beautiful. Tears flowed freely and tissues were distributed. Hagrid was hiccupping infrequently from behind his enormous handkerchief.

Finally, the casket was out of sight and a carpet of soft green grass slowly covered the grave, until it was indistinguishable from the ground around it. The minister raised his wand one final time, and words appeared on the formerly blank headstone as the last note of music echoed and faded away.

_Keep each other safe. Keep faith, _it read. It was the sign-off signature from "Potterwatch". Beneath it were the words _Fred Gideon Weasley, b. 1 April d. 2 May. _And, in small letters below that, _Mischief managed_.

All around, people were splitting into groups and forming lines to pay their respects to the family. Professor McGonagall and Kingsley were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who were talking with the minister and Augusta Longbottom. Ron was shaking hands with Dean and Seamus, while rubbing Hermione's back with his free hand. Harry was standing with Ginny, who was looking closely at the headstone. Bill and Fleur, who was still wiping glimmering tears from her eyes, were talking to the Delacours. Charlie was in conversation with Oliver Wood. Percy was standing stiffly with a curly-haired girl in a dark plum-coloured dress. And George was talking with Lee when Alicia, Katie and Angelina came up to them.

Lee trailed off in the midst of a sentence as the girls approached meekly. They were looking at George in silence.

"What, do I have something on me?" he asked, a bit unsteadily.

"Oh, George!" Angelina gasped, rushing to him and throwing her arms around his shoulders. He was stunned, but managed to free his own arms enough to envelop her into a hug as she cried against Bill's suit jacket. George patted her back awkwardly, staring down into her shiny black hair and trying not to listen to her sniffle and sob.

"I'm so sorry." she said a few minutes later, pulling away from him and wiping her face with her hand.

"That's okay. It's Bill's jacket." He looked down at the wet spots on the lapel and the mascara streaked on the shirt collar.

"What? No, not about your suit. Though I am sorry about that too. About… about Fred."

"Oh, right. Thank you. I'm sorry too." he replied lamely.

"What you said was really nice." Alicia offered timidly, smoothing the front of her full black skirt almost compulsively. "I wouldn't have been able to do that."

"Thanks."

George shifted uncomfortably, looking over at Lee. He was staring off towards where the sun was hanging over the village, looking like he'd pay good money to be standing naked in the middle of the town square than be where he was. The girls were lined up across from them, still teary, and all staring solemnly at George. He really wished they would stop.

"Wou--" he started, but Katie cut him off.

"George, maybe right now isn't the best time to ask, but we're going to be having everyone together at the end of the summer, before Angelina leaves, and we'd love for you to come."

"Leaves? Where are you going?" He looked to Angelina in surprise.

"I've been, er, recruited. By the Holyhead Harpies."

"I didn't know. That's amazing. But why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, almost angry.

"I've only just found out. Last week." She shrugged and held her arms out, indicating the setting in which they stood. "I didn't really get the chance to tell anyone."

"Well, I'm happy for you." he said, and she approached him again.

"Thank you, George." She kissed him cheek and pulled back, so that she held his hands in hers. "You'll stay in touch."

"I'll stay in touch." he said, and she squeezed his hands before letting go.

Katie and Alicia both hugged him, and he stooped down so they could each kiss his cheek. They said their goodbyes, and the girls went back into the crowd, which was beginning to disperse.

"I'm going to go, mate." Lee said, watching a group of people walking down the hill towards the copse of trees at the bottom, where they were Disapparating beyond the cemetery boundary.

"I don't blame you. Where are you going?"

"Home. To sleep, I think."

"Thank you for being here. And for…." he mimed carrying the casket.

"It was an honor." Lee said, shaking George's hand, then pulling him into a quick hug. "I'm going to miss him."

"So am I."

"I know. You'll let me know if you need me?"

"I will."

"All right then, George. I'll be around."

George watched as Lee made his way over to where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were talking with Professors Sprout and Flitwick. He turned and caught sight of his sister, who was stooped by the headstone and laying a bouquet of white roses at the foot of it.

"Mischief managed." Harry said quietly as George approached.

"Yeah. That was my idea."

"It's a nice touch."

"I thought so, even if you and me are the only two left that know what it means." He smiled ruefully at Harry, then turned to Ginny, putting his hand on her shoulder as she straightened up. "Nicely done, Gin. Did you conjure them yourself?"

She nodded. "I hope they aren't too feminine." Her voice sounded rough.

"No. They're perfect."

"Excuse me." a light, lilting voice said

They turned. Luna and Neville were standing a few steps away. Luna was smiling serenely, despite a large scrape above her left eye and a healing split in her bottom lip. Her hair glowed like gold in the late afternoon light. Neville looked like he had offended a hippogriff, his left arm in a sling and his face a mass of multicolored bruises and cuts.

"I don't mean to intrude, but Neville and I wanted to tell you that we thought the service was really quite beautiful."

"Thank you." George said.

"And your speech was lovely. It wasn't a traditional tribute, in the sense it wasn't very formal or flowery. And you didn't really list any of Fred's accomplishments. But it was still quite heartfelt and touching. I cried a bit." she said, turning her large eyes on George. Neville looked a little embarrassed.

"Er… thank you."

"And I know that you are very sad, your whole family." Luna continued, turning to regard Ginny. She reached out and took her hand. "But I'm sure Harry must have told you that everyone beyond the veil is still here. We just can't always see them. When it's really quiet, though, sometimes you can hear them singing. I know I listen for it often. Sometimes I can hear my mum's voice very distinctly. If you're ever feeling sad, just go somewhere by yourself and listen. I'm sure you'll be able to hear Fred's voice quite clear. He was very full of life."

"Good-bye, George." She turned to face him again. "I think it will be hard for you, because you and Fred are so alike. But he is very much alive with you, because people can see him in your face. I hope I can see you soon. I've heard wonderful things about your shop."

"Good-bye, Luna." he murmured, not knowing what to make of everything she had just said.

She looked into Ginny's impassive face, still smiling. "Well, good-bye. I'll be excited to see you at school again, Ginny. If you'd like to talk before September, I'd be very happy. I imagine that you'll want to spend most of your time with your family, though. I know I would."

She let go of Ginny's hand. "And good-bye, Harry Potter. I think I'll write you a letter."

Neville said quick goodbyes, shaking Harry and George's hands and giving Ginny, who still stood staring mutely at Luna, a one-armed hug. Then he and Luna walked off together, past the grave markers and down the hill.

George shook his head, though her words had lit a tiny fire in the center of him. He felt almost… hopeful. He turned to say something to Harry, but the words died on his lips as he caught sight of Ginny.

"Ginny?" he asked, grabbing for her forearm. "Ginny?"

Bill looked up at the sound of George's voice, just in time to see his sister fall to her knees on the soft, new grass in front of Fred's headstone. Her hands grasped at her face as she let out choked cry.

"Oh no." Fleur whispered, and they hurried away from her parents to where Ginny was kneeling, rocking back and forth and crying in great hiccupping sobs.

Most of the mourners had departed by this point, and those left watched as the Weasleys cautiously approached the sobbing girl at the white marble grave marker. Hagrid stood, wiping the constant stream of tears that leaked from his black eyes. Professor MGonagall put a hand on Professor Sprout's arm, and they watched as the Weasley family came together. Fleur stood a few steps away from the family, one dainty hand pressed to her heart. Harry and Hermione stood with her, looking heartsick. The Delacours looked on from further away. Gabrielle turned away, burying her face into a lace handkerchief and looking very much like her older sister.

George crouched down next to Ginny, looking up at the faces of his parents and his brothers. Mrs. Weasley nodded through her tears. He looked from her to Bill, who also nodded his encouragement.

"Ginny." he said gently. She did not respond, so he reached out and put his arms around her as she rocked.

She let him pull her to his chest, and she grabbed onto him with one hand. The other was cupped near her face, as though she was trying to catch her tears. She was crying hard, her face redder than her hair and her eyes and nose very swollen. Her breaths came in ragged gasps between sobs and wails, which were very loud in the otherwise silent cemetery.

He held her for a long time, until his legs had long since fallen asleep and the sun was very low in the sky. Shadows began to appear on the ground and between the markers. And still, she cried. Finally, he looked up at Bill for help.

"Let's go home." Bill said, turning to the rest of his family for confirmation. Behind them, Professor McGonagall caught his eye, and began rounding up Hagrid, Fleur, the Delacours, and Harry and Hermione, who were all that remained.

"Yes." Mrs. Weasley said in a tired, cracked voice. "Let's go home."

Bill crouched down and scooped Ginny easily into his arms. Ron extended his arm down to George and helped haul him to his feet. The others were just visible on the hill now, and a few seconds later, there were a series of faint pops as they Disapparated.

"Thanks, Ron." George said, dusting himself off.

"George," Mr. Weasley said, coming up on his other side and clapping him on the shoulder. "I want you to have this." He withdrew the box that Kingsley Shacklebolt had given him, the one that contained Fred's Order of Merlin medal.

"No, Dad, I--"

"I want you to have it." he repeated. "I'm proud of you, son."

George gave his father a hug. As he offered his arm to his mother, he looked over to Bill, who was holding Ginny. Her head was buried in his chest, and her legs hung somewhere near his knees.

"All right, George?" he asked. "Ready to go home?"

"Ready." he responded.

And so they set off towards The Burrow. Bill led the way, with Ginny in his arms. Her arms were clasped tightly around his neck, and she was still crying, though her wails were fewer and further between. Close behind, George and Mr. Weasley walked together, with Mrs. Weasley holding onto her son's arm. Fred's Quidditch robes were hanging over her other arm. Charlie, Percy and Ron walked, shoulder to shoulder, a few steps after them. The sky was darkening steadily as the sun set behind the hills. Here and there, fireflies illuminated quickly, and crickets chirped.

The eight remaining Weasleys walked slowly away from where their fallen kin rested, back towards the house. In between Ginny's less frequent cries, George listened intently. The dusky air was quiet, and, after a few moments, he was sure he heard a chorus of voices singing far away, just at the threshold of hearing. One of the voices was more discrete than the others. It was singing a rather rude song in a gleefully out-of-tune way.

"What is it, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, looking up at George, who was smiling.

"Nothing, Mum." he said. "Just remembering something."

They crested the hill where Bill and Charlie had watched the sun rise so many hours earlier. The Burrow sat at the bottom, past the orchard, glowing brightly in the darkness. And as they drew closer, George heard the voice singing louder, a song he had never heard before, but that felt familiar nonetheless.

_May the sun shine on your windowpane,  
And a rainbow be certain to follow each rain.  
May there be warm words on a cold night,  
And a full moon in the darkness.  
And the hand of a friend to cheer you.  
And a downhill path to your door_

* * *

**Author's Note**: I started this story for two reasons, one as a way to give Fred Weasley (one of my favorite characters in the series) a proper send-off, and the other as kind of a set-up to another story I'm working on. However, it rather took on a life of it's own.

It was my original intention to be a good deal more depressing, but the ideas of Luna's and the thought of Fred in a choir of angels, singing rude rhymes and Irish drinking songs, wouldn't go away.

It's been a very long time since I wrote fan fiction, and this is my first time writing a Harry Potter story. I tried very hard to be canon compliant, and I really wanted to keep everyone in character as much as possible while also expressing their grief. Ginny's near-catatonia and then epic freak-out at the cemetery probably seem bizarre, but I never pictured her as prepared to handle the death of one of her brothers. Even though she is strong and bad-ass, I think she needed to really retreat inside herself and then go to pieces before she could begin to heal.

For those of you that are interested, I used The Chieftains' (featuring Sting) version of "Mo Ghile Mear". Their translation is available online, if you're _really_ interested, I can send you the link. It's a genuinely moving song, and even though the Weasleys aren't Irish, it seemed appropriate for Fred who did, after all, die in battle.

I completely understand if you don't like my story, there's plenty of fanfics out there that make my brain bleed. If you'd be so kind, though, I'd like some constructive criticism-- I had fun writing this and want to do more.


End file.
